Everyday I'm Shuffling
by AssassinOfRome
Summary: An IPod Shuffle challenge for the wonderful Cabin Pressure. Ten songs and ten stories! Rated T for possible swearing and child abuse in later chapters. Possible Martin/Douglas. Enjoy! AOR


**1. American Honey (Child!Arthur)**

_She grew up on the side of the road,  
>Where the church bells ring and strong love grows.<br>She grew up good,  
>She grew up slow,<br>Like American honey.  
><em> 

Arthur sat on the beach, staring out at the bright blue ocean. The water was the same shade as the sky. Every so often, fluffy white clouds would drift over Arthur's head, casting shadows on the yellow sand. Warm, gentle sunlight dappled across his skin. He knew he wouldn't burn because his mum, Carolyn, had applied virgorous amounts of banana-scented suncream to his arms, legs, back and chest. A backdrop of small leafy trees and flowers struggling through the grainy ground completely the scene. If Arthur had to describe it in a word, it was brilliant.

Looking up from his sketchpad (Arthur loved to draw, especially the beach. It was his favourite place in the whole world), he saw a plane sailing through the sky. Arthur loved planes even more than he loved drawing. His dad had a plane. Affectionatley, Arthur had named the plane Gertie. It was a name he had invented when he was learning to read (something he still struggled with). The letters he could understand on the liscence plate spelt out 'G3RT1'' and he had named the plane that ever since. His mum had found it funny; his dad less so. Even though Dad liked the plane, he didn't seem to like Arthur naming it. Arthur wasn't allowed in the plane, no matter how much he begged. Gertie was his dad's plane and would always remain that way.

Savouring the rumbling roar of the plane's engines, Arthur turned back to his sketch-book. One thing his dad couldn't fault about Arthur was his drawing skills. Most children his age were still at the circle people with square feet and scribbly hair stage of life. Arthur liked shading and often knew all the proportions on a person's face. He showed Mum the portrait he drew of her and she laughed, ruffling his hair and calling him 'Arty Artie'. Then she had taken away the drawing and pinned it to the fridge for everyone to admire. The picture smiled at Arthur everytime he went to get juice from the fridge.

_Steady as a preacher,  
>Free as a weed.<br>Couldn't wait to get going  
>But wasn't quite ready to leave.<br>So innocent, pure and sweet,  
>American honey<em>

_There's a wild, wild whisper,  
>Blowing in the wind,<br>Calling out my name like a long lost friend.  
>Oh I miss those days as the years go by,<br>Oh nothing's sweeter than summertime,  
>And American honey.<em>

Arthur didn't know what he wanted to do when he grew up. His seven-year old mind decided it didn't really matter too much, that the world would stay exactly the same for all time. Often, his teachers would quiz him on the subject of gettting older. Arthur didn't like school. The questions were confusing, the teachers were condesending and the other children were cruel. They called him 'retard' and 'stupid' and 'clot'. Clot was the worst. It ran through his mind, clogging his brain, making it even harder to answer questions. It hurt. Australia and its beautiful beaches were a far better home to him.

Maybe he would become an artist. He did love to draw and his mum, who never seemed to lose faith in him, said he was brilliant at it. Arthur's favourite word was brilliant. It explained everything in the world. The smiles of kind people were brilliant, the rays of sunlight streaming through his bedroom were brilliant, the sound of the sea gently lapping the sand was brilliant. Smiling to himself, he sketched faster.

Maybe he would work with animals. Arthur had always wanted a pet, preferably a dog of some sort but his father had always forbidden it. He said that pets were smelly and messy and took up too much room. Mentally, Arthur argued that pets were only smelly and messy if you didn't clean them properaly. And how did a fish tank take up too much room? Their house was massive. Almost all of Arthur's class could fit in the living room but there wouldn't be much space. Arthur didn't want a big animal, like a lion or a bear, although it would be very cool.

Maybe he would be a pilot. The small boy looked up at the white tail the plane had left behind. It would be wonderful to fly up there, amongst the clouds.

"Up, down, flying around. Looping the loop and defying the ground. They're all wonderfully keen, those magnificent men in their flying machines..." He sang to himself, then stopped. Blushing, he looked around to see if anyone was near. Thankfully, there was no-one in the area. One thing Athur knew he would never be is a world-famous singer. His music teacher was fond of telling him he had a cloth ear. Sometimes the teachers were as cruel as the students.

_Get caught in the race  
>Of this crazy life.<br>Trying to be everything can make you lose your mind.  
>I just wanna go back in time,<br>To American honey, yeah._

_There's a wild, wild whisper  
>Blowing in the wind,<br>Calling out my name like a long lost friend.  
>Oh I miss those days as the years go by,<br>Oh nothing's sweeter than summertime,  
>And American honey.<br>_  
>Arthur finished his sketch and peered at it critically. The sea sparkled, but it wasn't quite as sharp as the glitters on the ocean. The trees weren't as bushy as he had drawn them. The sand didn't look as soft. Pursing his lips, he frowned at his pencil. Why was everything so difficult? Why couldn't the world agree on anything? The sound of bickering shot through the air, ruining his peace. Looking up, he saw his mum and dad viciously fighting. Again. He sighed and masked his sadness by adding to the drawing. Maybe, if he tweaked it slightly, it might begin to look better.<p>

"If you hadn't been so stubborn-"

"Oh don't blame this on me!" His mother's voice was shrill and scratchy, like it always was when she strained her throat.

"But it's clearly your fault!" His father argued back.

"I fail to see how!"

Arthur sniffled. Why wouldn't they be quiet? He could barely hear the sea over their shrieks and all the birds that had been roosting peacefully in the trees had fled. Arthur wished he could leave too. Run away and hide, all on his own, without anyone to call him stupid or to interrupt his drawing.

The small noise he made seemed to have alerted his parents of his presence.

"I told you he would be here!" Carolyn said smartly.

"Like he ever anywhere else..." His father muttered.

"It's time to come home, sweetheart." Carolyn smiled at Arthur, purposely ignoring his father, who scowled. Arthur held out his drawing, hoping to cheer him up. The older male glanced at the picture and raised an eyebrow. Somehow, the sketch made him even angrier then before.

"You have to grow out of this baby phase, Arthur! It just won't do. Your grades are sinking everyday. You have it far too easy, my lad. I certainly wasn't allowed to sit and draw aimlessly at your age. I had to work!"

"Oh, don't start. It's not as if Arthur's done anything wrong."

"The boy needs to learn!"

"He's just a child."

"And he is my child! He shall be disiplined as I choose!"

"Don't act like you own him!"

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, tiny tears trickling out of the corners. In his mind's eye, he could still see the ocean, beautiful and pure and clear. But the family war raged in his ears and he clung to his mother's hand as she lead him up the slope to their holiday home.

_Gone for so long now,  
>Gotta get back to her somehow.<br>To American Honey. _

_Blowing in the wind,  
>Calling out my name like a long lost friend.<br>Oh I miss those days as the years go by,  
>Oh nothing's sweeter than summertime,<br>And American honey._

That was the last time Arthur ever saw the wonderful beach of Australia. The following year, his parents got divorced. Arthur was eight. As he watched his father's car pull away from the drive, he clung to his mother's hand, whimpering. Caroyln looked like she might cry too. But she was brave and strong, claiming not to need her silly husband. She was fine. Arthur was fine.

Shoved in the back of a drawer in his bedroom, Arthur still has his sketchbook. His talent only grew with age, but he never showed his pictures to anyone. The risk of losing Douglas and Martin's respect to some scribbles was unfathomable. But sometimes, when their teasing went a little far, when they apologised for hurting Arthur, when looks of utter guilt crossed their features, Arthur would just force a smile, make a joke and leave. No matter what anyone said, or what they did, Arthur still had and always would have his sketch-book.

Arthur's head wasn't empty. It was full of memories and sketches and sunlight.

_And American honey._


End file.
